#I always complain about that but like you can be honest without being so bloody direct about it

[playingonedchess]

i dunno how big the cultural dissonance really is but like americans must be way too direct i reckon there was this one time this american couldnt even see how that was rude when it pretty clearly was

[loveoaths]

i refuse to write luke skywalker as always rational and sunshiney and din djarin as always stoic and honorable.

because luke can be whiny and enjoys complaining and doubts himself but he keeps going and it’s his refusal to quit that gets him to the other side. and he had to learn that, that dogged tenacity, with time and experience and yoda’s help on dagobah. he wears coco chanel and could kill god but he’s too busy housing hot milk juice. he’s the greatest jedi who ever lived but he also knows jack-all shit about the legacy he carries because he got the jedi speedrun. his first student knows more about being a jedi than he does and luke feels weird and less capable because of it. he still doesn’t quite know how to feel about his biofather, his feelings change every day, and he doesn’t know if he ever will. he knows next to nothing about his biomother and no one seems to think that’s weird at all. he loves sand. he misses home. he never wants to go home. he doesn’t know where home is anymore. he wanted to be a cool hero all his life and now that he is one he isn’t sure he’d have left tattooine if he’d known what it would have cost him back then, even if he knows now it was the right thing to do. he loves quickly and deeply and it’s his greatest strength and his greatest flaw, and his love is what saves his father but dooms his nephew. he’s a happy guy, not a naive one. he knows too much and not enough all at once. he’s brave and proud and freaky and normal and laughing and groaning all at once. he is a cambrian explosion, the universe convexing and convexing into itself all at once. he’s a hick from space arizonabama. he’s luke skywalker.

and din is not always selfless and honorable or deadly and murderous. that man does some reckless as shit sometimes. like get in a concrete boat in a lava river when he had a jet pack. or nearly getting eaten by every large-to-giant animal he stumbles across. or bringing a baby to a gunfight (although to his credit, the baby usually wins the gunfight). he’s also vengeful and leaves a guy to get eaten by street ratdogs with the calm air of a man who has done this before and walks away playing with his baby while a man screams bloody murder behind him. he tries to be polite and avoids killing people he doesn’t need to, but if you step to him he will cut you down without a second thought, and he will not feel bad about it. he was going to leave a teenager/young man toro calican to die because he was annoying until he begrudgingly agreed to help him. when he was young he referred to enemy combatants as “target practice” and fucked around with xi’an so he has terrible-good taste simultaneously. he just be doing shit and surviving because he’s literally wearing plot armor. he has anxiety. he has a heart— not a big one, but an honest one. he’s practical and ruthless when necessary. he’s a warrior and a protector, a father and an orphan, a zealot and an apostate, the sword and the shield, the hunter and the hunted. he lashes out when he’s frustrated and reins himself in to get a job done. he takes no bullshit but also, yes he does. he’s faced The Horrors and takes a space ambien before bed because his middle aged back fucking hurts. he’s a little guy. that’s din djarin.

they’re both complex and weird and funny and tragic and hopeful and messy as hell and basically i’m saying they should fight then fuck about it.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 10: Stable

something is sparking between aureia and sidurgu, and they can't seem to see it. but rielle can. sidurgu x female warrior of light (pre-relationship), mentions of aymeric x wol. set during stormblood patches, but after the lvl 60-70 drk quests. rated: teen 2086 words ao3 link

“…when I said you could accompany us back to Ishgard, I didn’t mean for it to become a godsdamned holiday.”

“Resting at an inn is not a holiday.”

“And this isn’t a sight-seeing trip!”

“It’s fine, Sid! It’s one night! Is there something wrong with one night?”

“It’s dangerous, that’s what. For her, for you, for me.”

“Dangerous from whom, exactly? The Empire’s been all but routed from Gyr Abania. Besides, I don’t think many in patrons would consider confronting two dark knights head-on, and those that could would be drunk out of their minds. Please tell me you’re not afraid of a drunkard.”

“That’s not—godsdammit, you can be a right bloody bonehead when you want to be, you know that, eh?”

Rielle sighs and leans forward in her saddle, patting Filo’s neck. The chocobo chirrups, his head tugging on the reins as he leans into her hand, enjoying the feel as she pets his shiny black feathers. The day has stretched on and on, the road getting longer with every step, Baelsar’s Wall shadowing the horizon and somehow never getting closer, the dusty heat growing intolerable in the Gyr Abanian haze.

If she were younger—or travelling alone, let’s be honest—she would have pelted Sidurgu with the oh-so-tempting “are we there yet?” question, but for now she holds her tongue. Though Sidurgu has dragged her from one end of Coerthas to the other, even trekking into Gridania on the rare occasion, this is the furthest from Ishgard she has ever been. Her rear and legs may ache from too many hours in the saddle, but even with Sidurgu and Aureia’s endless bickering, she can’t remember a time she was this happy on the road.

She doesn’t want it to end.

She’s being selfish, she knows. Like a little kid—an actual little kid, thank you very much—asking for another five minutes at their favourite park, or clinging onto a favourite toy that has long since fallen apart. Sidurgu wanted them to return on their own, without company. He didn’t say as much—not aloud—but she saw it in his eyes when tending to his wounds. If he wasn’t stuck leaning against a rock, moaning and groaning and complaining about her fussing over him, he would have taken her and stalked down the road the moment Aureia’s back was turned. So, she struck at the opportune moment, piping up before he could say or do anything, and pointedly asked her—“You’ll come back with us to Ishgard, won’t you?”

She didn’t answer right away. There was a crease in her brow, a downcast turn to her eyes, and in that moment Rielle feared she would say no. But then she brightened, a warm smile spreading across her face, and she said—“I suppose I must. I’m going the same way, after all.”

That was yesterday. They walked for a time, Filo puffing and panting beneath Sidurgu’s weight before it became too much for the chocobo. The poor thing was the runt of his flock—Aureia’s told her the story many times—incapable of carrying an Elezen cavalier let alone a massive Au Ra in full plate armour and with a greatsword to boot.

And so they camped early, finding a spot beneath a single sprawling tree. Leaving Sidurgu to make the fire—he insisted, it was the one thing he could manage without aggravating his wounds—Rielle and Aureia hurried down the slope to the little rippling stream. Rielle wasn’t much help; she splashed in the water, giggling and free, scaring away the fish Aureia tried her best to catch. A waste, maybe, but neither Aureia nor Sidurgu told her off for it. She was too busy enjoying wading in the stream herself, and he… well. Rielle is certain he was looking at her a different way. Or maybe the same way he always has. Or maybe…

They had the last of their rations that night, laughing and smiling around the fire. It did not feel like a rationed meal.

And now today. Aureia suggested she ride Filo instead, leaving her and Sidurgu to walk ahead. Rielle was thrilled—still is, even though she is hurting all over now. She has never properly ridden a chocobo before, and Filo is such a pretty bird. The hands at the Holy Stables call him mean and difficult—he has a legendary grudge against one of the Scions, the Hyur with the white hair Aureia makes weird faces when he’s mentioned—but Rielle thinks differently. Difficult, no. Misunderstood? Maybe.  

She knows what that’s like.

But now the sun is slowly sinking toward the red-brown peaks, and they really are going to have to find somewhere to stay or camp. They’re approaching a crossroads—literally. Up the hill and over the ridge, there’s a little inn with a wide stable for chocobos and warm, soothing lights in the windows. The perfect place for a trio of weary travellers.  

But of course Aureia and Sidurgu can’t seem to make up their minds.

“Happy to be a bonehead, then, if it means someone here has the voice of reason,” Aureia says.

Sidurgu snorts, but Rielle knows better. Even when his back is turned, she can hear him trying not to smile—and his tail is curling. Sometimes she wonders if it’s the same sort of thing as those girls in the Forgotten Knight when they twist their hair around their finger while making eyes at Gibrillont. He only does it around her. Maybe he doesn’t even know it.

No matter how testy their bickering gets, he likes it. He used to bicker with Fray, too.

“You know those are incompatible,” he mutters. “Bonehead. Voice of reason. Not exactly the same thing.”

“What can I say? I’m full of contradictions. A right paradox, maybe.”

“Bloody hells, you can say that again. Here I was thinking you had put aside your greatsword for good when you all but kidnapped us on this little hol…”

“Hm? What was that?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, good. And here I thought you said holiday for a moment.”

He lets out a long sigh and passes a hand across his face. “Aureia…”

She flashes him a grin.

He glares at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Aureia, please. Don’t make me laugh. I’d rather not bleed through my bandages tonight.”

From their position several paces behind, Filo chirrups and throws a look over his shoulder, his dark, beady eyes staring at Rielle. She shrugs and pats his neck. “I know,” she whispers. “I think they’re both being boneheads. What do you think?”

Filo chirps again and shakes himself from side to side in fervent agreement.

“Yes, exactly.”

Aureia raises her arms, her hands brushing the hilt of her greatsword as she pulls her hair back and twists it into a knot. It’s different from the messy, uneven crop she sported when Rielle first met her, long enough to brush her shoulders. There’s a bit of red in it, too, which Rielle doesn’t remember. She didn’t have that when she first came to Ishgard.

“The inn is a good option, Sid,” she says. “Give Rielle a normal night for once instead of sleeping on the ground again.”

“I know that, I simply—”

He pauses, bowing his head to look at her. The difference in height between them would be quite funny, if only height wasn’t such a sore spot. Rielle huffs, making a face. Aureia may be half-Elezen, but she did not inherit their height. Is it a sore spot for her, too? Rielle hasn’t thought to ask her.  

“All right, out with it. Don’t think I don’t know you, Aureia, this isn’t about the inn or Rielle. You’re hanging onto something.”

“I… am I?”

“You don’t want to go back to Ishgard, do you.”

It isn’t a question. An accusation? Something else?

His voice has dropped low, not quite a whisper. Rielle rises a fraction out of the saddle and leans in, straining her ears to catch the conversation.

“Maybe. Yes. Perhaps.”

“Aur.” He rests a hand gently against her shoulder and their pace slows. Their boots scuff the road, a cloud of dirt puffing around their feet. “What’s going on?”

His voice is calm. Firm. Steady. The kind of voice he has after she has a bad nightmare, but not quite.  

“It’s nothing, it’s…” Aureia lets out a long, sad sigh. Rielle tugs sharply on the reigns and Filo hisses in protest, jerking to a stop some feet behind. “There’s someone I must meet with when I return.”

“I see.”

“And I would… rather not.”

A pause. “I suppose the Lord Speaker of the House of Lords and the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights is a difficult man to ignore.”

“He can be, yes. Especially when you’re…” She pauses again. “Fuck. Let’s not pretend I even know what we are anymore. He asked me to marry him and I couldn’t even say yes.”

“Would it be too much to say that I am glad of that?”

“Sid—”

“Damned if I even want to know what you are to him. And I know all too well—very well, in fact—that this is not my place and not my business, but I will say what must be said if no one else will. If you need to hear it. I do not like who you have become with him. I’m sure—Temple Knight aside—he is a pleasant man in his own right. And it would be unfair to accuse him of anything malignant, I know that is not his way. And I do believe you love him, or have loved him—”

“Sid…”

“Past or present, my point still stands. You have chased something with him. Something that has brought you joy, yes, but also great sorrow. From what I have seen, from what you have told me… I believe you must become someone else to remain with him. And I do not believe you will ever be happy becoming that person. If the pair of you were in different circumstances, if you were different people…”

“If he wasn’t the Lord Commander and I wasn’t the Warrior of Light?”

He meets her eyes, his horns casting a shadow across his face in the glare of the setting sun. “If he weren’t a politician and you weren’t the Alliance’s war hound.”

She inhales sharply. “You didn’t have to put it that way.”

“Someone bloody well should have. There are a dozen places you should be rather than wandering the Gyr Abanian wilderness with a surly dark knight and a teenaged girl. A dozen people who need you more than we do. So what other reason was there for all of this, Aureia? A soul crystal cracked? Or an excuse to run?”

A pause. “I don’t think I can talk about this now,” Aureia says quietly.

Sidurgu lets out a long breath. His hand slips from her shoulder. “I’m sorry, that was… harsher than I intended.”

“Don’t be. You were only saying what you thought. And what I’ve thought for some time. Sometimes I think you’re the only person who makes any damn sense.”

“Oh, so is that why you keep finding reasons to come and find me? You’ve long since outgrown the Forgotten Knight.”

Her hand brushes his. “That’s not the only reason.”

He smiles.

Rielle yelps and tips forward, clinging to the reigns.

Filo chirrups shrilly, wings spread wide as if to catch her. She clutches the reigns and pulls herself upright just in time, her cheeks flushing red as Aureia and Sidurgu turn around, both instinctively reaching for their weapons.

“Rielle!” he calls, releasing the hold on his greatsword’s grip. “Are you all right?”

She steadies herself. “Fine!”

“Don’t test the bird. I don’t want you getting thrown out of the saddle—”

“Don’t test your wounds, Sid, I don’t want them re-opening before tomorrow at the earliest if you can help it.” She smirks, proud of herself for the quip, and nudges Filo with her heels. He trots forward, giving the pair a smug look as he trots by. “Let’s go to that inn, shall we? If I deserve a bed for the night, then Filo deserves a stable, don’t you think?”

Sidurgu and Aureia exchange looks, both of them trying very hard not to laugh.

Grinning with triumph, Rielle tucks her hair behind her ears and leads them up the hill and down the path to the inn.  

[masque-of-plague]

what was one of ur fave scenes in supercritical to write?

FIRST OFF!! Omg hi?? 🥺🥺 Thank you for the ask!! 💕I'm so happy to have the platform to talk endlessly about supercritical asdfjals;djf

OUGH HARD QUESTION!! Specifically my favorite to write? I think my answer has to be the end of Chapter 5, with Xisuma's backstory. That scene is so much different than my normal way of writing and I really enjoyed having the opportunity to tell a short story within a longer story. It didn't matter that things were brief and vague, that was the style hehehehe I liked being able to drop little details without having to worry about resolving them or properly developing them over time. Like Three and Four can have mild homoerotic tension! Four's a grumpy tsundere who loves his wife, his daughter, and his best friend and just about nobody else. Little details that I can just say outright or include with off-handed details and either way works. In general, I just love a corruption arc as well, so that was very fun. And of course, I buried myself in Falsuma feels 😂 And now I have to live with the knowledge that if I want more supercritical!Falsuma, I have to create it. The Curse sdfasjdf

My favorite part to have written, even if I was complaining the entire time about the process of actually writing it is probably towards the end of Chapter 6. The Grian jumping scene was one of the first clear ideas that flashed through my brain when the plot came to me (I wasn't joking when I said that the plot of this story came to me fully formed skfadfj) so the reward of getting to finally write it was amazing. Along with that, I enjoyed Evil X being very very sadistic towards Grian. Might've had a little too much fun if I'm being honest 😂 And then of course their reunion and kiss 💕 Writing endings is something I put a lot of effort in, so again, the process of actually writing it was....grueling at time, but I was SO HAPPY to have written it. @mellioops illustrated the finale smooch and it felt like a part of my brain could rest happily, being able to visually see Scarian bloody and bruised but holding each other like nothing else mattered.

In GENERAL, I'd say the parts I enjoyed writing the most were definitely the office interludes with the reporters bantering with Grian. I loooove writing some silly banter. Similarly, Cub and Grian being catty at each other always made me laugh to write.

Honorable mentions for favorite scenes to write include:

The festival date where I got to be heavy handed with some metaphors and symbolism >:P Illustrated by @all54321

Their first flight where Grian goes from freaking out and being upset with Scar to actually really enjoying himself. Inspired a little bit by the time I made one of my friends go on a roller coaster with me which she hated until made her open her eyes and then we rode it again because of how much fun it was. 💕

Their first kiss scene which is ALSO NOW ILLUSTRATED BY @flykering WAHHHHH

afkasjdfa I know you asked for one scene anon but uhhhh I took the opportunity to talk about many 😂 Thank you again for the ask!! 💕

[fictionalmen2]

Can we just lay here

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You are on your period and in masses of pain but somehow your boyfriend just makes it all better.

—————————————————————————-

“You staying in bed today honey?” Your best friend Lily asks as she is currently getting ready for a Hogsmead trip that was planned with your group of friends.

Just the day before you had been hit with an unexpected visit from the period train. Unexpected because you had already had it once that month. You tended to have heavy and painful periods anyway but you could always seem to work through them without wallowing in bed. This time however was too painful to even get out of bed with cramps that seemed to radiate throughout your entire body.

“i think so yeah sorry” your weak voice called out from the semi comfortable position you had found in bed despite wriggling around all night.

“Don’t apologise babe! here is some pads and a bin as well as all the food you always hound me for” Marlene cuts in as she walks back into the shared dorm. She placed everything on the bedside table next to you and then moved to your other side to calmly stroke your hair knowing it helps you as well as her.

“You want us to get James?” Mary asks from laying on Lily’s bed. She has been patiently waiting for her girlfriend and one of her best friends to finish getting ready for about an hour and a half. She heard you moving around last night and noticed how long you were in the bathroom for, putting two and two together she knew you weren’t coming today.

“No no it’s ok you guys go and have fun!! Don’t worry about me but if u find yourself wanting to buy my a present feel free to act on that urge” You say to them as they all start to get up from positions on bed or in Lily’s case on the floor whilst finishing her hair. As much as all you want at that moment is your boyfriend, all of your friends are looking forward to a December walk around Hogsmead and you know James hasn’t been able to get out for a while due to Quiditch and so you don’t want to ruin this for them.

“Okay my darling love you”

“Feel better sunshine”

“i’ll get you something from ‘Dukes”

You hear a chorus of things being said but don’t actually see them leave as you have curled your blanket right around your head and moved into a tight fetus position.

———————————————————————-

“Fucking finally we have been waiting for you for decades”

“Calm down Sirius you impatient boy” Peter calls out to him as the boys heads swivel around to see the girls coming down the stairs. “we were barley waiting 10 minutes”

“Bloody feels like decades” Sirius mumbles under his breathe loudly but it earns him a wack on the shoulder from his boyfriend sat on the arm of the sofa next to him.

“You girls ready to go” James claps his hands together as he stands up out of the arm chair that Peter was sat in front of.

“Where’s y/n??” Remus voices and James does suddenly notice that you didn’t come down the stairs with the rest of the girls. To be honest he didn’t even notice the girls were down until Sirius started complaining.

“Bad period she is currently trying not to claw her uterus out upstairs” Marlene states openly which results in Lily giving her a harsh look and Mary giving her a soft hit to the back of her shoulder.

“She told us to go on though but buy her presents in return which i don’t think is a fair deal” Marlene carries on ignore the reprimands she got a second ago.

“Anyway moving on Marls” Lily announces when she sees the look of discomfort in the boys faces. “Periods aren’t disgusting assholes just painful so wipe that look off all your faces” she sternly says looking all of them in the eye so they know she means it.

“Hey you guys enjoy Hogsmead but i’m gunna makes sure she’s ok upstairs” James states to the group as he begins making his way through the group with an apologetic smile on his face but they all know he isn’t the least bit sorry about his choice.

“Give her a hug from me”

“try not to kill her”

“makes sure she’s comfortable”

James hears from his friends as he walks up the dormitory stairs but he doesn’t really listen all he takes into account his seeing you.

—————————————————————————-

You hear a soft knock on the door and you softly groan when u realise you have to get up to let them in.

You slowly move your legs out from under the duvet and wince slightly at the discomfort it brings you but you manage to make your way over to the door and trudge it open.

The person stood on the other side is an unexpected but warmly welcomed surprise when you are greeted by your boyfriend.

“Hi Jamie what are you doing here” you ask him with a horse and scratchy voice that makes him let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Just hearing you in pain makes him uncomfortable and he just wants to do all that he can for you.

“Hiya love, i ditched the others and thought i’d come lay with you instead if that’s ok” he says walking into your dorm, a hand around you helping you manoeuvre back into your bed.

“You didn’t have to Jamie the girls gave me a care package earlier so i’m all set to wallow in my bed until i feel better” you state with a small smile trying to get comfortable again in bed which is proving hard until James climbs in as well. He shuffles close to you and pulls one of your legs over his and traces patterns on top of your pj bottoms you have on. His other arm goes around your shoulder which is also tracing patterns around any exposed skin you have. You sigh into him and lean your head on his shoulder feeling the most comfortable you’ve ever felt in that moment.

“I know, you all do one for each other every month it’s the best thing i’ve ever seen, but im here to make sure you aren’t lonely and just keep you comfortable” He kisses the top of your forehead and then rests his chin on your head which brings you a type of comfort you can begin to explain.

“Thank you Jamie, i needed this”

“You don’t need to thank me love, im your boyfriend i care about you all the time and i will always do this for you” He says softly as if he is trying to send you off to sleep and you aren’t ashamed to admit that it is working.

“Can i just lay here with you?” You sleepily ask through a light yawn. Your eyelids are getting much heavier and you have finally got comfortable and so are ready to catch up on the sleep you missed out on last night.

“You can do anything you want right now my love. I’ll be here when you wake up”

And with a final kiss to your forehead you are sent away into a deep slumber wrapped up in your living boyfriends arms.

The best place in the world.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

REMEMBER JASON TODD?

《 READ ON AO3 》

Joker reminisces to Batman about one of the happiest years of his life: the year he spent breaking Jason Todd.

《RATING》 Mature 《WORDS》 1,865

《CHARACTERS》 Joker, Jason Todd/Robin (Arkhamverse)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Jason Todd Needs a Hug

《WARNINGS》 Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage, Torture, Mindfuck

《NOTES》

I somehow got possessed by a death-worshipping garbage clown and wrote this Jason Todd torture-fest 🃏

If you enjoy the read, please consider reblogging 💚

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are much appreciated!)

Remember Jason Todd? Ugh, what a whiner. Always complaining… We’re both better off without that loser.

I gotta confess though, Bats. Screwing around with his little-kid mind, digging around in his grey matter, stirring it up until Toddy made me look almost sane—that was the happiest I’d been in a long, long time. I’d thank the boy for that, if his brains weren’t splattered all over the basement of Arkham, huhuhu.

Ahh, the memories. I tortured that poor kid for nearly a year. Shattered his ankle, knocked out a few teeth, yanked out a few more, broke a few ribs—well, probably all of his ribs, after it was all said and done. Let’s face it, that pretty red armor of his could only withstand so many beatings before it started wearing down and losing its Bat-tested, Bat-approved effectiveness. Near the end the boy was practically begging me to take it off of him! But, hmm, now that I think of it, that was probably more about his shame over being such a miserable embarrassment to his Batdad and less about its ineffectiveness when I was bashing his skull in with my trusty, rusty crowbar.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes! I even invited a few of my fellow inmates down to take some shots at the little punk who’d terrorized them at Batman’s side. Man oh man, did those guys hate your jilted sidekick or what? I found myself a teensy-bit envious of all the fun they were having with the kid, especially after seeing Bane slam Toddy’s body into that concrete foundation so hard that I’m pretty sure he left a Robin-shaped dent.

Oh Batsy, you should’ve seen our boy’s face! I’m still kicking myself for not including a photo with your consolation prize. The video I sent you just didn’t do him justice. Your enemies collaborated on a masterpiece, they really did. Vibrant reds and pinks, rich purples, blacks, and blues; so battered and broken, his features all askew—Picasso himself would be in awe of their bloody canvas. They must’ve broken his beak at least a dozen times. By the time they were through with him, you wouldn’t even have recognized the little guy.

But c’mon, be honest. We’ve been buds for so long, you and I. You can trust me with anything—Clown’s honor. Tell me, did you even try to find the kid? I never bought the “World’s Greatest Detective” charade, but you gotta admit Batsy, I made it pretty easy for you. I stashed your Boy Blunder in the most obvious place I could think of. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame you for wanting to delete ol’ Jason from your history. He was a real piece of work, fighting me tooth and nail every chance he got, spitting on my hospitality and me. More of a “rabid dog” than a Robin, if I do say so myself. And that mouth of his, ugh! His mother would thank me for the beatings I gave him if she heard half the things he said to me. A real blight on the house of Bat, that one. This new Robin of yours seems more in line with your legacy. Maybe I’ll get my hands on him someday, tenderize him like I did Toddy, huhu.

Well, whatever your reasons, you gave me ample time to get my creative juices flowing. I’d been itching to try out some new ideas that had been floating around my noggin. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Rack. Sadly, I wasn’t able to procure that particular device for our little bird’s cage, but I’ve always been good at improvising. I read somewhere about this rather nasty technique they used during that delightful period known as the Inquisition. Ahh, the good ole days… when torturing people was a paid profession.

With the help of my pal Boles, we tied the boy’s arms behind his back then strung him up by the wrists. Some Arkham orderlies were kind enough to provide me with some weights, which I tied to his ankles. Must’ve been painful because that was the loudest I’d heard the boy squeal since he dropped in my lap! The pitiful thing was wriggling and writhing like a worm on a hook. I left him dangling like that for a few hours since he seemed to enjoy it so much. Tehehe.

That little device of mine ripped his arms clean out of their sockets, yet the bird still refused to break. He was as defiant as ever, cursing at me between sobs. Talk about loyalty. He was ready to die for you. How do you inspire that kind of devotion from these brats? It’s the car, right? Gotta be that fancy car of yours. Hmm, I should get me a Jokermobile of my own someday. Anyway, Junior wasn’t the sharpest Bat-tool in the Bat-shed. Six months of suffering and he was still convinced you were coming to rescue him. I tried to tell him that you’d moved on with your life, found yourself a new partner who wasn’t such a loser, but he refused to believe me. We’d reached an impasse.

But then—here’s the best part of the story, ooo it gives me chills just thinking about it—then you gave me a gift. You actually did replace the kid with a new one. BWAHAHAHAHA, now that’s my brand of cruelty, Bats—I always knew you had it in ya! After everything I’d done to that poor boy, all it took was a photograph to break your bird into a million little pieces. Yes Batsy, a photo of you and his replacement gallivanting around Gotham, saving the city from crazy men like me.

Oh how he bawled after I showed him that photo! And that was even before I beat him senseless with his favorite crowbar. I pressed that photo into his palm before I left him bleeding on the floor of his cage, and, God love 'em, the dumb kid was still begging for his Bat-daddy to come save him from the evil Clown. “Please forgive me, Batman. I tried to be the partner you wanted, I swear I did. I’m so sorry I disobeyed you. Please don’t let him punish me again. I’ll be a good boy for you, I just wanna come home. Wah-wah-wah, boo-hoo-hoo.” If only I had a heart, it would’ve been broken by his pathetic pleas. But I don’t, so I kept beating him for good measure.

Wee Todders was much more pliable after it finally sank into that thick skull of his that you’d abandoned him. I gotta be honest with you, Bats, you made it so easy for me to make him hate you after that, it almost felt like cheating. Still a rootin’ tootin’ good time though. For me at least. Can’t speak for our dearly departed boy toy.

No wonder you dumped his half of the dynamic duo on my doorstep. Talk about rough edges! Took some blood, sweat, and tears (his, not mine) but I eventually sanded him down and hollowed him out; sculpted him into a partner in crime worthy of the Clown Prince of Crime. Had to teach him some manners first, though. Clearly Emily Post wasn’t included in your crime fighting curriculum. Did no one bother to teach the child any words beyond the four-letter variety? Well, I trained him to address me properly: “yes sir”, “no sir”, “please don’t hurt me sir”—that sort of thing. I find that negative reinforcement works best when it comes to naughty little boys like him: electrocution, sensory deprivation, barbed wire bondage, blunt force trauma, starvation, force-feeding, puncture wounds, power tools, waterboarding, acid trips, acid burns, regular burns, stabbings, stranglings, even good ole fashioned paddlings. By the time I was done with the brat I had him thanking me for yanking out his fingernails with red-hot pincers. 

Jason was some of my finest work to date, if I do say so myself. I transformed your rejected Robin into a perfect pet. The boy was mine, body and soul, but I wanted to make sure he never forgot who he belonged to, who made him who he truly was, made him realize that potential you tried to snuff out. Let me tell you, he was none too happy about being branded like a bull. You’d think the kid’d be more grateful after all the time I spent hunting down a J-shaped branding iron just for him. He didn’t carry on about it for long though. By that point just the sight of my toybox had him cowering in a corner, shivering and whimpering like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs. 

Speaking of puppies… I even had a collar made for my darling boy, in case my signature on his sweet cheek wasn’t enough. A red leather collar to match that red leather getup. What an adorable sight that was! Him, bruised and scarred from head to toe, down on all fours, staring up at me with those blown out baby blues, full of tears and fear, and dare I say, even affection. That poor kid’s psyche was so twisted by the end that he was clinging to me, clutching at my suit, begging me not to abandon him like you did. Hil-ari-ous! Bless his widdle heart, he was such a good boy by then. I rarely had to punish him but it was just so dang fun I couldn’t resist. I did so well with the little laddy, it got me thinking maybe Harley and I should have a few tykes of our own for me to abuse. But nah, you seem to have so many to spare, I’ll just stick to your brood. Lord knows I don’t want to get saddled with child support—oh the horror!

We had some good times, y’know? Little Toddy-woddy was like a son to me, he really was. He hated you so much it made me one proud papa. It’s a shame I had to put him out to pasture with a bullet through his brain, but he was becoming such a bore. He just didn’t scream as much as he used to—that collapsed lung of his probably had something to do with that. And he was so obedient, so submissive, so utterly desperate to please me… (yawns) If I wanted a vegetable, I would’ve made him a vegetable. This is a nut house after all. Got all the tools I need for a lobotomy right here at home. No, I wanted that ball of wildfire, that feral foul-mouthed urchin I fell in love with! I guess since I’m being honest here, I have only myself to blame. I suppose it’s a lesson to learn for my future bird boy endeavors—you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs (and legs) after all.

Welp, no use crying over spilled brain matter! If it’s any consolation to you, my pointy-eared pal, I’ll never forget the kid you gave me and that magical year we spent together. No really, I have a jar full of teeth and fingernails to remember him by! hehehehehehehehe 

[hongthoven]

Heeyyy I see ur request is open, can I request how ateez would react on trying period cramp simulator?? Like their s/o brought them the device and forces them to have a taste of how it feels to be at the verge of dying every once a month 🤧

How Ateez react to :

trying on period cramps simulator. 

HONGJOONG.

That man loves a challenge and is a sore loser. Of course he would agree to do it and brag about being able to endure it better than anyone. Until the pain gets so crazy he has to rip the thing off and throw it away, storming off cause he couldn’t go through it in the end. 

“That was a stupid idea anyway” 

(he still would be extremely soft with you whenever that time of the month would hit and cuddle you anytime you’d curl into a ball in bed, having learned about the pain in the hardest way)

SEONGHWA.

Gritted teeth, bit of cursing, couple tears sprinkling in the corner of his eyes from the pain but also the thought of you going through this every month. He would apologize for no reason, like he’s the reason why you’re in pain but in the end he would manage quite well. The whole experience would probably make him more conscious about your period and he would show up every month with your favorite ice cream and suggest you’d watch your favorite movie together, probably asking “is it painful?” every two minutes.

YUNHO.

Yunho is the most caring, sensitive boyfriend, so it’s no surprise to have him suggesting the idea himself just so he knows what you’re experiencing. He’s that type of partner, the one always eager to connect with you in any kind of way. He would probably hold your hand and endure the pain without a word, biting the inside of his cheek while intertwining your fingers together a little tighter when the pain gets unbearable. 

“I wish I could take that pain away from you every month” he’d say, kissing your lips and proving himself to be, once again, the best boyfriend ever.

YEOSANG.

Would ask about the accuracy of the whole experience and wonder how they can possibly simulate actual period cramps just so it would save him some time before trying. He’d be surprisingly good at it, never showing any kind of emotion up until the very end where he would eventually cry out and pull you into his arms for a warm hug, calling you a Soldier for handling this stuff every month. 

“You’re my hero”

SAN.

Whiny. So so so so so whiny.

He would probably talk in pout and complain a lot about how ridiculous that is and how you can’t possibly go through this every month because that’s just not “human”. There’s a high chance you’d end up being the one comforting him in the end cause he’d act like a baby - but then again, he’s so cute when he’s begging for attention.

“Why did you make me do this? I thought you loved me”

MINGI.

Lots of swearing. Slamming his thighs with both hands. Looking up to the ceiling. Biting his lip. Cursing through his teeth. Mingi would be an absolute sweaty mess but he would never surrender and go through the whole process just to prove how much he cares. 

“Fuck this shit!” (repeated three to four times for maximum impact)

WOOYOUNG. 

screaming. bloody. murder.

He would be so loud the neighbors would probably consider calling the cops on you, thinking you’re actually murdering him. I’m talking rolling over the floor kicking his feet in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs, begging for it to stop. The most absolute drama queen.

“I will never, ever make fun of your period mood swings again” he would pant with one hand resting upon his chest.

JONGHO. 

He wouldn’t even flinch one bit and go through it all without batting an eyelash, maybe even look bored at some point when it gets too long and he doesn’t feel a thing. 

“I don’t see what’s so bad about it to be honest?” 

[minty-malfoy]

“would you still love me if I turned into a worm?” | blurbs

🌱 pairings: reader x blaise zabini, cedric diggory, draco malfoy, fred weasley, george weasley, harry potter, hermione granger, luna lovegood, neville longbottom (sorted in alphabetical order)

🌱 warning tags: language, probably

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Blaise Zabini

“A what, now?” your boyfriend asks, halting the movements of his quill to look up at you; brows furrowed as if it’s the most absurd thing he has ever heard in his entire life.

“You know, those wiggly things that—”

“I know what worms are, (y/n). But what the hell?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “I’m bored.”

“So you thought about what it’d be like to turn into a worm?” his eyes narrow out of pure bewilderment, blinking once, twice, as he finally turns back to his unfinished essay. “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Not my fault you’re taking so long with that assignment,” you grumble as you begin to shift on the puffy couch, feeling somewhat annoyed by how cold and empty it is without the other boy in it. “And besides, you love me.”

An amused chuckle escapes his lips. “Can’t say that I don’t.”

“Even as a worm?”

“Will you stop asking if I said yes?”

You nod happily, giving him the answer he needs— or well, wants, really. Even though Blaise couldn’t quite understand the pointless question, he knows it’s significant to an extent.

“Yeah, alright. I would. Now give me five minutes and we can get out of here. Deal?”

A glint of satisfaction flashes through your eyes as you give him a hum in return, thinking to yourself that maybe the silly questions could be more useful than you thought.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cedric Diggory

The moment the words leave your mouth, Cedric's first reaction is to laugh. He didn't mean for it to come out in a condescending way. He hadn't even meant to laugh, to begin with. But judging by the way you pout with both arms crossed, that might just have been how it came accross.

"I'm sorry," he offers sheepishly. "you were saying?"

"You heard me. I said what I've said," you grumble, despite not being genuinely upset at the hufflepuff boy you've grown to love.

"Wait, I need to get this straight," he takes another breath of air. "You're serious?"

"What do you think?" you pout once again, turning away slightly from your boyfriend. This only seems to ignite his amusement as much as it does his guilt. A second or two later, his arm finds its way around your shoulder, the other brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

"You really haven't figured it out yet?" he asks with a genuine grin on his face. You begin to eye him curiously, appreciating the charm of his pearly white teeth as you wait for the boy to go on. Soon, he pulls you into his lap where his arms craddle you lovingly.

"Sunshine," he begins. "I'm surprised you still have to ask. But if that's one way of putting my love for you, then yes. You'd be my favorite worm in the entire world."

"Promise?" you present your pinkie finger as a final means to seal the deal.

With one last chuckle, he wraps his fingers around yours. "Promise."

Everything that happens next is a flurry of innocent pecks and kisses planted along your skin, coupled with the security of two warm arms holding you in place.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Draco Malfoy

"And what exactly do you expect me to say to that?" comes his first response after a long moment of trying to figure out just how in Merlin's name your mind came up with that question.

You, on the other hand, can't help but giggle at the slytherin boy's confusion. "Whatever's on your mind right now will do."

"Well, to be honest with you, I can't quite stomach the idea of my own girlfriend turning into a bloody worm." he nearly spits the words out, softening his edge only when your eyes meet once again. "If you were expecting a different answer, I suggest moving on to the next bloke."

Draco wasn't lying about that first bit. Worms have always been an insignificant, unseen creature in his world; wiggling in the muckiest of places where they could easily be stepped on. Hence, he doesn't like to imagine you—someone so perfectly ethereal and quintessential in every single way; the only source of light shining into his pathetic excuse of a life—to be compared to a dirty worm, of all things.

"That doesn't mean I don't love you, though," he adds in a bit of a guilty tone; voice much, much softer this time. He brings your hand to his lips, dropping a few kisses on its skin. "I just much prefer having you as you already are."

You snuggle deeper into him, indicating that you already know exactly what he means.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fred Weasley

“A worm!” Fred exclaims, nearly forgetting the food on his plate altogether. "What a brilliant idea!"

A few seats away, you can already see Ginny clamping her mouth shut as to not burst into fireworks of laughter. You mirror her gesture, eyes now on Fred once again, watching him announce this idea of yours to your entire group of friends.

Ron, who's not that thrilled to see his brother's public displays of affection, lets out a groan. "Wouldn't have asked him that if I were you."

"You think so?" comes your reply. "He seems to be having a lot of fun with this." you both glance at Fred, who is indeed already coming up with some sort of thrilling plot.

"Did you hear that, George?"

"Sure did, Fred."

"I reckon we could come up with a potion for that," he muses, turning back to look at you. "Give me a week or two and we can start living out that worm dream of yours, love."

"Wait, Freddie, you're getting it all wrong," you begin explaining, tugging on the boy's sleeve slightly to keep his attention on you, "It was just a silly little question. I don't actually plan on turning into a worm or anything like that."

At this point, you half expect his enthusiasm to die down from the grounding effect of your words. In reality, it doesn't.

"S'that so?" he replies, earning a nod from you. "Looks like you're missing the bigger picture to me, (y/n). Isn't that right, George?"

"Right you are, Fred." the said boy affirms. "Sorry, (y/n). I'm with him on this one."

With a sigh, you turn back to Ron, who's busily stuffing his mouth with a look on his face that says I told you so. You shake your head with a small smile at your boyfriend's shenanigans. You're not sure how you can both dread and anticipate the day of his worm adventures.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

George Weasley

"That's a new one," he asserts with an amused laugh. The boy rests his head against one of his palms, feeling instantly intrigued by your proposition. "Now tell me more about this worm business of yours."

"That's about it, actually." you admit sadly.

George frowns at this, wishing he could hear more worm stories and whatnot. Mostly he's just happy to see the way you talk about things passionately. Makes him feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside in a way he can't ever get enough of.

"That's quite alright. I'll do the talking, then." he offers, rubbing his chin to think of what to say next. You light up in your seat, eyes wide in anticipation. Now it's your turn to eagerly wait for his response once again.

"I've got an idea. We could run off and start a new life— as worms!" he beams all of a sudden. You raise a brow for him to go on, not exactly complaining about your boyfriend's excitement towards the topic. "I'm only turning into a worm to make sure I can properly take care of you, of course. Wouldn't want to—er—squash you between my big human fingers, now do we?"

You both erupt into a chorus of laughter at the conjectured image, melting into one another like two fitting puzzle pieces. When you finally catch your breath again, you pose the main question once more, "So I'm concluding you're still going to love me, then?"

"Love you?" he repeats. "Oh darling, I'll be marrying you in a grand worm wedding!"

You can't hold back the gasp that escapes your lips, more than thrilled to have the first mention of marriage between you. Not too long after, you transform into a complete fit of giggles when George continues. "Then we'll happily live our worm lives, 'till death do us apart. Or when, you know, some bloke accidentally steps on us. Whichever comes first."

You lean into him lovingly to steady yourself after all the laughing. Taking a deep breath in, you mumble a soft, "You always know how to make me laugh, Georgie."

And the truth is, he wouldn't have it any other way. Worms or not.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hermione Granger

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand the point of this question."

"Which part, exactly?" you inquire, watching your girlfriend pull out another book from the wooden library shelves.

A few seconds pass before you get your answer. "You're not a worm," she states simply, eyeing you up and down as if to prove her point.

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out, 'Mione," you follow her to the next section. "Which is why I said if I turned into a worm."

The girl looks at you again, analyzing your words and expression briefly before coming to another conclusion. "I still don't understand." she pauses to think. "Unless you might be interested in becoming an Animagus? Even then, opting for a worm wouldn't be very... effective."

You roll your eyes, speeding up to block the girl's way. She lets out a non-committal "Hey!", only for you to quickly muffle it with a warm kiss. A moment or two later, you pull away with a smirk that makes her heart melt. "Just answer the question, would you?"

Still slightly caught off guard from the contact, Hermione finally caves in. "Alright, you cheeky flirt. I love you. Even as a notional worm."

Satisfied with her answer, you plant another peck— this time on her cheek, before announcing a gentle "I love you, too."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Harry Potter

The way his lips purse into a straight line tells you that Harry doesn't exactly understand the question. Not really, at first. Aside from being an entirely foreign concept to his ears, it also seems like an odd thing to ask someone, unless— "Oh! You're an Animagus!"

The smile on your face instantly drops at this. "What? No—"

"Why didn't you just say so, (y/n)?" he begins what—at the time—you don't know is going to be a nearly endless ramble. "I was planning on telling you this for a while now, but I know someone who's an Animagus, actually. In fact, I think you two would get along fantastically!" he lights up at the sudden idea, flailing his arms in the air out of excitement. "Yes, maybe I can try getting the both of you to meet up. No promises, of course, but what do you think?"

"I think you've got it all wrong," you frown; knowing you would have to disappoint your boyfriend and how you're not very fond of the idea.

"What do you mean?" he asks, albeit barely giving you a second to reply. "(y/n), it's alright, really. You know you don't have to hide yourself from me. Besides, I think it's brilliant!— what you can do, I mean."

The smile he gives you is the epitome of love itself, and now you're not quite sure how to handle the messy situation without pulling out the rug underneath Harry's feet. All you can do is squeeze his shoulder with a guilty smile, promising to talk about it again after dinner.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Luna Lovegood

"Of course. Worms are lovely, don't you think?" she says with a dreamy smile. You gape at how easily the answer could be pried from your girlfriend; no questions asked. But then again, it's not like you hadn't expected this exact outcome already.

"Really?"

"Mhm," comes her gentle hum as she begins to stir her honeyed chamomile tea. A soft smile stays glued on her features, as if she's enjoying the conversation. "What kind of worm would you like to be, (y/n)?"

"I haven't really thought about it that far," You admit. "Are you sure, though? We won't be able to hold hands or anything like that."

You can't tell if you had just imagined the almost-frown tugging on her lips, because when she looks back up at you again, her sweet signature Luna smile is back in its place. "I suppose you're right. But I could carry you around everywhere with me. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"It would be," you nod. "but can a worm even fit into that pocket of yours?" you question, noticing how hers are stuffed with unknown items; blades of grass sticking out ever so slightly. Flowers, perhaps.

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about. See?" she pulls out a couple of daisies and fairy foxgloves to reveal a now empty pocket. "Now, would you like some tea?"

You eagerly join her on the table, snuggling against your girlfriend ever so slightly as you both begin to talk about your day. The entire worm ordeal is slowly slipping out of your mind already.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Neville Longbottom

Neville stops in his tracks at your question, taking a moment to toss the idea back and forth in his mind before he can give you a proper answer. You nearly giggle when his face scrunches up, brows knit and lips parted as he innocently asks, “But why would you turn into a worm?”

"Neville, love, no. It's a hypothetical question."

His entire body relaxes at this, releasing what you assume is a breath of relief. "Oh. I thought you were being serious for a moment there."

You shake your head with a giggle, taking a step closer to adjust the scarf around your boyfriend's neck. "I'm just curious is all. Would you still love me, then?" you ponder.

"Yes! Of course!" comes his instant reply, hands balled up into fists that match the determination on his face. "I would get you a nice worm house with all your favorite flowers in it," he bends one of his gloved finger inwards, beginning to keep count of this hypothetical to-do list. "Would you still be able to have human food? Well, either way, I promise to feed you every single day!"

He pauses, only for a second or two. "Oh! And I'll sing you worm songs! Or maybe we can sing them together? I don't know if you would still be able to talk as a worm though."

You swiftly pull him into an affectionate hug, effectively bringing his rambling—as well as the entire worm topic—to an end. His hands sheepishly find their home around your waist, where he places them softly as if it's his first time hugging you. After all the months of being together, it certainly isn't.

"What was that for?" he dares himself to ask, avoiding your eye contact shyly.

"For being the most loving and adorable boyfriend I could ever ask for," you lean in to plant a soft, gentle kiss on his cheek. You don't miss the way he pulls up his scarf to hide the blossoming blush afterwards.

I have no idea why I wrote this either lol <3

🌷 draco taglist: @arossebyanyothername @kawaii-angelanne @thefandomplace @yuosmi @bbeauttyybbx @mywellspringoflife @slytherinsunrise @avatarbeeb @scarlet-says-hi @lunars @coldlilheart @beiahadid @justmimithings @soundsquid27 @youknowiloveyou-so @n3ssm0nique @ochrythum @explxsion @yaanasluv @autumnpleaves @booksmione @drxcomvlfx @the–queen-of-hell @aspiringsloth20 @runninglownad @snitches-at-dawn @badfvith

🌷 harry taglist: @teheharrypotter @badfvith

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

ON FEYSAND’S PLOTLINE IN ACOSF

              !!!!MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE ACOSF!!!!

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Let’s be honest for a while, okay?

ACOCF had potential to be SJM’s best book, if not for any other reason then because of the sheer idea of it. Coming-of-age, healing story of the most complex and polarizing character she has ever created set in the time of peace, away from the familiar setting (according to the later changed concept which still remains in the snippet at the end of ACOFAS), development of her arguably most feisty and angsty love story... It could be her absolute trumph. Even with the change to stick to Velaris instead of exploring the Illyrian culture of the Mountains and with the added conflict of the Mortal Queens and Koshei, it still could work quite well. 

It didn’t. For many, many reasons, but the most important one, in my opinion, being the feysand pregnancy plot. 

Nothing about this plotline made sense. Not a single thing. From start to finish, it was an absolute disaster from the character-writing POV, from the narration POV, from every single context of it. It broke the rules of real-life logic, it broke the rules of this fantasy world setting and it completely exposed that Rhysand, while not a bad guy, is a pretty terrible partner, even worse ruler and an absolutely terrible contender for the High King title. 

Let’s break this whole mess down (and expect this post to be mammoth-sized. it’s not my fault, though, write to SJM if you have any complains):

1) Feyre, 21, decides to get pregnant, even though less than a year earlier, she expresses the delight with not being forced to bear children to her new mate and told him herself she wants to wait a while and enjoy her life with him. Feyre decides she wants a baby though and Rhysand goes along with it, even though he is aware how young Feyre is and how hard her life has been up until this point. He wants a baby too much to have an honest discussion with Feyre about it, to stop and wonder what is the reason for her sudden change of heart, to reassure her that they have a lot of time ahead of them and don’t need to rush. No. She mades a sudden decision to have a baby after A YEAR OF MARRIAGE and not much more of being turned fae, JUST AFTER having her whole world put upside down, having received a completely new title and responsibilities, surviving the wat and being mated. Great. 

2) Feyre decides to get pregnant and Rhys goes along with it less than a year after the end of the bloody war. It is politically a delicate time, everyone is still not sure how the balance will shift, some countries don;t want to sign the peace treaty, etc. There are a lot of enemies and a lot of turmoil remaining. But sure. Let’s have a baby. Perfect time to add yet another target, another weakness that can be use by the Mortal Queens, Beron or whatever else with malicious intent towards the Night Court. 

2) Feyre gets pregnant after approximately a year of trying. I know healthy people of reproductive age for whom it takes ages more than this. Fae’s pregnancies are rare af and precious and happen once in a blue moon, but ofc SJM broke the world’s rules for her darling Feyre. And again, for Kallas and Vivianne who are also expecting the baby, even though it has been a maximum of 3 years since they’ve mated. 3 years is also not a particularly long time to try to have a baby for those who have issues with their reproductive systems like Fae women. Thank you, next. 

3) Rhys has unprotected sex with Feyre in her Illyrian form when she conceives, even though he knows full well having a winged baby would kill her. He does it anyway, for shits and giggles apparently. They probably have sex in the sky above Velaris, for all we know. 

4) The baby has wings. Now, the whole explanation with Illyrian wings being bony (bc they resemble bat wings) and Seraphin ones being more flexible (bc they resemble bird ones) is so insanely stupid that it takes around 3 seconds to wikipedia this shit and find out it’s exactly the opposite. But okay, the baby has wings and Feyre will die while giving birth, along with the baby. Madja forbids Feyre from turning into an Illyrian to carry the pregnancy because it MIGHT hurt the baby. Now, remember, Feyre conceived while in Illyrian form and then turned into High Fae. The baby survived it just fine. The baby MIGHT be hurt by Feyre turning .... but it will FOR SURE die if she stays High Fae and Feyre will too. Idk about you, but I would take the risk of MIGHT instead of FOR SURE. Especially when she is already in labour and dying. Cauldron or Nesta or idk who alters Feyre’s pelvis after the baby is cut out of her for no apparent reason but to allow feysand to make exactly the same mistakes later on. How convinient. And Nesta also alters her own pelvis bc god forbid she won’t be able give Cassian babies like the little useful mate she is now. She should’ve probably done it with Elain too, just in case she decides to fuck Az in the future, because fuck consequences and fuck the stakes in the story that make the readers actually CARE about characters bc they know the author may actually kill them and not save their life every fucking time.  

5) I don’t even want to comment on the fact Rhys hid the true danger of this pregnancy for Feyre and their family went along with it. It is absolutely disgusting. And Nesta telling her and that being condemned as the act of the ultimate cruelty which is a final straw to break her self-loathing back.... is abhorrent. It made my sick, actually, phisically sick. There is no justification for it. No at all. And the fact that they did not even consider abortion sends a message that I really don’t want to think too much about it. Feyre was 2 months along when they learned the baby is winged. 2 months. 8 weeks. It wasn’t a baby yet, let’s be honest. They could’ve at least discussed it. She - oh my god, I cannot believe SJM wrote it this way, I’m gonna be sick. 

6) For the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, they have no plan to really help her. Labour plan? Haven’t heard if it.  They have money and power and access to the healers of the whole land. And did not figure out how to stop her from bleeding out after a fucking C-section. THIS WORLD HAS MAGIC AND THEY COULDN’T STOP HER FROM BLEEDING OUT AFTER A FUCKING C-SECTION. Didn’t even ask Thesan, the High Lord of Healing, to be present. Cassian had guts hanging out of his stomach and survived. Az was fucking slashed apart in Hybern and survived. But yeah, Feyre was on a brink of death after a C-section. Great, Sarah. Keep it up. Let’s force the thought into young girls’ heads that labour is the most lethal thing ever, why not. 

7) Also, for the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, Rhys keeps quiet about this idiotic bargain. He, as far as we know, doesn’t make any plans for the moment when him and Feyre and possibly their baby are dead. If they died and baby survived.. who would take care of it? Does Rhys have a conversation with his family about it? NAH. Doesn’t write any sort of plan how to keep the Court going, doesn’t inform even the closest of his co-workers how they should proceed to act after he’s gone and his and Feyre’s power go to god-knows-who. Their deaths would mean a sure chaos for the weakend and fragile Prythian and the Night Court especially and yet nor Rhys nor Feyre make any sort of preparations for it. Rhys doesn’t tell his brothers or Mor or HIS SECOND IN COMMAND they will all soon have to somehow manage without him. He was about to just leave them to their own devices and told them in the last. possible. moment. 

And this man - this man is, according to Amren, the best candidate to handle the whole country? To unite it? This fool who makes idiotic bargains, who thinks first about his cock and his own selfish desires and considers his subjects and his responsibilities as a High Lord last and least important of all? Who has so much trust in his wife, in his High Lady, the mother of his son that he doesn’t tell her she will almost surely die on a birthing bed because it MAY UPSET HER? 

This plotline was the straw that broke my back. ACOTAR, at it’s heart has always been a ya fantasy with added ‘spice’ and I was willing to bend my critical-thinking skills in many cases and forget and forgive many smaller idiotic issues in this series. But this? It is not idiotic. It is massive and stupid to the point when it becomes insulting to the reader. It was a plot straight out of a bad fanfic, not something that should be in a published book written by someone who writes for a living. You could even argue that Twilight has handled this toxic trope better.  I have wasted my money on this book and thinking about it will always be painful for me. So yeah.

ACOSF could be great. Ended up quite pathetic. 

[imaginejamesandsirius]

ur blog. it's... the best thing to happen to ao3 istg the way i obsessively read allll ur fics isn't funny lmao.

prompt : high school roommates enemies to friends to lovers au GO

"I hate him," Sirius grumbled into his phone.

"What's he done that's so horrible?" Andromeda asked. She was a lot more fun before she became his legal guardian and had to start parenting him all the time. Now she expected for him to be reasonable. How wretched.

"He leaves his clothes everywhere."

"You leave your shoes everywhere."

"Yeah, shoes, not everything. It's bloody ridiculous! He leaves his dirty pants in front of the door. Yesterday, I found one of his socks in my bed. His sock. In my bed. Can you believe that?"

"He's a teenager. You're a teenager. You'd think you'd be a little more understanding about his messiness. It's not like you're Mr. Clean yourself."

Sirius groaned. "Really? You're taking his side? You haven't even met him!"

"I haven't met him, no, but I've heard you whinge about a lot of people," she said dryly. "I can tell the difference between harmless and dangerous by now."

"I never said he was dangerous," he protested, because he hadn't. All he'd said was that James was sodding annoying. And that he hated him. And that if he could kill him and get a new roommate instead of going to prison, he would gladly do it. Besides, it wasn't just the clothes he left strewn about the place. He always mocked Sirius for how long it took him to get ready in the morning. He stayed up way too late and then got upset when Sirius would be up early the next day-- like they didn't have classes, the idiot.

"Uh-huh. Look mate, I don't mind if you want to whinge about him all day long, but you know that you're stuck with him, right? Nobody gets to switch their roommates, no matter if they deserve to be free of them or not. So if complaining to me about it is going to help you deal with this, then great. But if all it's going to do is make you more miserable, then maybe we should look at alternatives."

He would love to mock her for that but... well, he appreciated not just the offer but how nonjudgmental it had sounded. "No," he said with a sigh, "I'll get over it." It sounded like a lie, though. How was he supposed to get over it when the most annoying prick in the world had decided that Sirius should have to suffer for being half put-together? "Eventually."

"Better than nothing," Andromeda said.

"How's Nym?"

"She misses you. I don't think she really understands why you aren't around as much anymore."

*

"What the hell is that?"

"Mind your own business, Potter."

"It was a simple question."

"And I gave you an answer, now bugger off."

"..."

"What?"

"Are you always in this bad of a mood, or is it only when someone mentions your parents?"

"Sod off."

*

Sirius didn't apologise in so many words, but he did put all of James's dirty clothes in the hamper instead of yelling at him to do it. That counted, right?

The set up of today was not ideal, to be honest, but he supposed that all's well that ends well. It was a parent (or guardian) visit day. Nymphadora got sick, and Andromeda had an emergency at work that she got called into the office for. Ted was home with the baby, and Andromeda was busy.

It was fine. Sirius was practically an adult. He could handle his life just fine when his cousin and her husband couldn't come visit him at boarding school. It was hardly the end of the world.

It's just... he'd been looking forward to this. His first school year without his parents showing up so they could tell him everything he was doing wrong. He'd wanted to be like all the other students at this time. They were happy to see their parents. Catch up on everything that hadn't been shared over text. He finally had someone to visit that he would've been happy to see, but it wasn't going to happen. Not today, at least, he thought with a heavy sigh. There was another visit day next term, so he'd be able to act like everyone else then. Just not now.

Gods, he was becoming increasingly melancholy. He needed to eat candy or summat to raise his spirits. He pulled his bag into his lap and was rifling around for a chocolate bar that he knew he had when James came into the room.

"Oh, hey. I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"In my room? Yeah, real weird place for me to be," Sirius snarked.

James rolled his eyes, but there wasn't the usual animosity on either of their sides. "I thought your cousin was coming by this morning. And haven't you been talking about seeing her kid for the past week? You were supposed to be soaking up the sun, having fun for once."

"Nym got sick, so." He shrugged. There was nothing to be done about it.

Whatever answer James had been expecting, that wasn't it. He pulled up short, blinking stupidly behind his thick glasses. Though, Sirius noticed begrudgingly, he didn't look as stupid in them as he used to. He also didn't look as stupid in general as he used to, which was just Sirius's luck.

"What are you doing here? Your parents have shown up for the entire day every single visit day since we started."

"My mum's not feeling well. Baba said he'd be by later, but he wants to make sure she's all right before he leaves."

"Makes sense," Sirius said and willfully restrained any mean remarks he thought about how old James's parents were. After all, who was he to judge about unusual family situations now? Besides, as much as past-Sirius had found humour in James's parents being so old and him being an only child, current-Sirius didn't see what about it was funny. Growing up was supposed to be more fun not less, but whatever.

They sat in silence for a while, Sirius finally locating and eating his candy while James rifled through his coursework for McGonagall.

Apropos of nothing, James said, "I'm sorry your family couldn't be here. I know you were looking forward to it."

"Thanks," Sirius said, startled. He was never so surprised that he couldn't talk, though. "I'm sorry your mum's sick."

"She's not sick, she's just not feeling well," James said immediately.

He blinked. There was something in his tone that was suspicious, but honestly, they weren't mates, and it was clear James didn't want to talk about it. "Well, I'm still sorry."

James didn't say anything for a moment. A too-long moment that seemed to stretch out forever as Sirius wondered if he'd crossed some invisible line that was only known to his roommate, but then he said, "Thanks."

*

How, exactly, the fuck had this happened?

James was his best friend. By a landslide. James hadn't even done anything special! Since their incredibly civil conversation on the parent visit day, there had been a shift in how they dealt with each other. For example, instead of Sirius getting mad at James for leaving his shite everywhere, he would just toss it over to his side of the room and keep going; it helped that James didn't get mad at him for touching his stuff, like Sirius had heard other roommates had problems with. 

Not snapping at each other turned into being friends. How was he supposed to know they had so much in common? He felt like he'd been tricked into this, somehow. There was no other explanation for how this had come about.

None at all.

After all, how was he to know that James was funny? And that they would get along so well once they had one civil conversation? It was ridiculous. No one could've seen this coming, least of all Sirius.

*

He tried to keep it from Andromeda for as long as he could. Just because she was his guardian now and trying to be more level-headed, didn't mean that she was above saying 'I told you so' when the situation called for it. The situation certainly called for it when Sirius had been so wrong and she'd told him that his roommate wasn't as bad as all that.

And now that Sirius fancied him, well, he could imagine the teasing that would come from admitting it. So he kept it to himself and tried to deal with it as best he could, but the problem was overwhelmingly that he wasn't used to this. He'd spent most of his time at school trying to get people to leave him alone. Now that he wanted James to pay attention to him in a very specific sort of way, he didn't know how to go about it. He gave it his best try, to no avail. He needed help, and the only person he could ask was Andromeda.

"I need help," Sirius said as soon as she answered her phone. He wasn't in his room right now-- couldn't risk James walking in while he was talking, after all.

"Everyone in our family needs help, I'd wager, but what is it troubling you today?"

"You're married."

"Well spotted."

"That means you're good with... I dunno, romantic advice?"

"Er. I wouldn't go that far. Ted was the one that got me, not really the other way around. If it had been left to me, we would've been friends till we both dropped dead."

"I'm so glad we have that in common," Sirius said wryly.

"Oh, so you fancy someone," Andromeda said, sounding delighted. "That's a different story then."

"If you were no help when the situation was hypothetical, I fail to see how you'll be helpful now that it's real."

"Hey, I never said I was good at it."

"I know."

"Do you want my help or not?" Andromeda asked.

"Not really. Put Ted on the phone."

She huffed and pulled the phone away from her mouth. He distantly heard her say, "Your son thinks I'm no good at giving advice and wants to speak to you."

"You realise that Sirius isn't a son for either of us, right?" Ted replied.

"Oh sod off."

Ted laughed, then brought the phone up. "Hi Sirius, what are you up to?"

"Why do I have to be 'up to' anything? Can't I just be existing and wanting to chat?"

"Wanting to chat doesn't make Andromeda shove the phone at me, but if you want to be secretive, I suppose that's your prerogative."

Sirius sighed, more out of show than anything else, and explained.

*

Sirius didn't say so to his face, but he didn't think that Ted's advice would be very helpful. Maybe that had worked for Ted, but Sirius wasn't like him. And however much Sirius wasn't like Ted, James was equally not like Andromeda. Granted, his advice hadn't been so specific as to be useless, but Sirius still wasn't sure about it.

In the end, he didn't have to do anything.

James was the one who acted, and he did it before Sirius had a chance to come up with a plan of action of his own. They had secured a date almost before Sirius knew what had happened. Not that he was complaining, mind.

It was a bit awkward at first, with Sirius feeling like he had to act a certain way now that they were romantically involved, but they got it worked out before anything went horribly wrong. In fact, everything was going... wonderfully well. Nothing bad. Little bumps in the road, yes, but nothing terrible.

"You're still a bad roommate," Sirius said, but there was no mistaking the grin on his face. He was sat on his bed, and James was sat on the other. They'd agreed that they should stop snogging so they could get their homework done, only instead of working, they were sat staring at each other with dopey smiles on their faces.

"I've gotten better," James replied half-heartedly. "And I maintain that you're up far too early."

"It wouldn't be too early if you didn't stay up so late."

"If I had anyone else for a roommate, they would have the same sleep schedule as me," James said.

Sirius blew a raspberry, and James laughed.

"I think we've worked it out all right."

"You're right, of course," Sirius agreed easily. He reached for his bag.

"You're not a bad roommate," James said a moment later. "I wanted you to be back when we weren't getting along, but you're not. Even though it annoys me how early you get up, you're not loud. You never turn on all the lights unless I start being a berk."

"Are you going somewhere with this? Not that I'm not enjoying the compliments."

James shrugged. "I just think you're great, is all. I'm allowed to think that about my boyfriend, aren't I?"

"I suppose you're allowed," Sirius said, ignoring the blush rising in his cheeks. 

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 66: Bond

There was a certain bond that formed between two people when all of your friends were paired off and dating someone. When the two of you were the only single people so you got paired off to share food, and be partners in games, and all other manner of things.

Harry supposed that tonight would be just one more of those nights as he arrived at Ginny and Luna's. And he wasn't complaining (not anymore, at least) it had taken a couple of years but he and Draco had warmed up to each other. They had compatible styles for partner games, Draco always gave Harry any treats with nuts and Harry gave him any treats with mint, and Harry genuinely enjoyed his dry sense of humor.

If he was being honest, he'd started looking forward to all of the time that he got to spend with Draco on Friday nights.

But things felt different the moment he entered the house, even though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He spotted Ginny first, standing against the counter, pouring a couple glasses of wine, "Hey," he called.

She looked up and bit her lip.

"What?" he asked with no small amount of dread. He knew that look; it was the look she'd given him right before she'd told him she might be gay and in love with Luna, a look that said she was afraid of breaking his heart.

Ginny opened her mouth but no words came out.

"Ginny, what?" he said, taking several steps toward her.

"I don't know how to say thi-"

"Oh, good," he heard Draco say from behind him, "You're here."

His mouth stretched into a grin even before he turned around "He-" he broke off when he saw that Draco was standing with his arm around some bloke who Harry had never met before. "Hey," he finished.

"This is Matt," Draco offered.

And frankly, Harry would rather die (again) than shake his hand but before he could have any say in the matter Matt had stepped forward into his space and was gripping his hand. Hard. "The Harry Potter," he drawled. "My, my."

(Read more below the cut)

Harry glanced over at Draco who looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Draco has told me so much about you. I could hardly believe that he was telling the truth." He leaned toward Harry conspiratorially, "He's known for embellishing the truth, you know?"

Harry wrenched his hand from Matt's grip, "Actually, I've found Draco to be honest to a fault. Hardly anyone else will tell me when my outfit doesn't match or I've got something stuck in my teeth."

Matt's eyes flashed and Harry's proverbial hackles stood on end he didn't like that look, "I-" Matt started

"Hey," Draco said, taking Matt's hand and drawing his attention, "Let me introduce you to everyone else."

"Nice meeting you, Mark," Harry called.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, "Matt," he corrected, before mouthing, 'behave' at Harry.

"My mistake," Harry said, maintaining eye contact with the other man until he turned away and followed Draco into the other room.

"Okay," Ginny said, drawing his attention away from them, "First. Men are disgusting; I can't believe I thought I was attracted to them for so long."

"What?" he asked, slumping over to the counter and sliding onto a stool across from where Ginny was still mixing up drinks. He was feeling a little nauseous, fire rushing under his skin.

"That," she said, gesturing to where Harry had been standing talking to Matt and Draco, "The little pissing match to decide who's dominant."

"What?" Harry asked, "that guy is just an asshole."

She rolled her eyes, "Second, you're still an idiot."

"Wow. I'm just going to go home," he said. "Between you and the dude who was trying to break my fingers, I don't think it's going to be a great night."

Ginny leaned across the counter and instinctively Harry leaned toward her, "How long are you going to continue denying you have feelings for Draco?"

His brow furrowed, "I don't. We're just mates," he added.

"I rest my case. You're still an idiot," she said as she leaned back and started mixing drinks again.

Harry slouched on his stool turning that thought over in his mind, "That actually would make sense," he admitted.

"Harry, I love you, you know I do," she said. "But honestly, I can't believe you're just figuring this out. The rest of us have known for ages. We were all shocked when he walked through the door with Matt; he told us he was bringing someone but we thought the two of you were just making a joke."

"Well now what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Why couldn't anyone have said something sooner?"

"Because we thought it was obvious," she hissed.

"Let's just get through the night," he sighed. "Then we'll deal with the rest. We'll need to come up with a plan."

-----------

He spent the rest of the night calling Matt the wrong name (Miles, Maurice, Mike, Max, Moses, Mitch, Mason) to the point that Ron either caught on and decided to help or got confused enough that he started calling him the wrong name, too. Harry also couldn't help but rub it in Matt's face how much better he knew Draco; telling inside jokes, asking Draco specific questions about his work and his parents, and reminiscing about fond memories.

Draco seemed a bit exasperated by it but Harry couldn't help himself. Once he started, he just couldn't seem to stop.

Eventually as everyone was getting ready to leave and Luna was saying good bye to Matt, Draco cornered him, "Do not move a fucking muscle," he hissed, "I am not done with you."

"Dra-"

"I mean it, Potter. Stay right here," he said, jabbing him in the chest with his finger before he turned and made his way over to his date.

"Hey," Matt said, smiling at him much the way Harry imagined an alligator might smile at his prey.

"Hi," Draco replied softly. "I'll floo you tomorrow, yeah? There are a few things I need to take care of."

Matt frowned, "I thought we were going back to my place."

"No," Draco replied steadily. "I have a five date rule." He stepped back, "I'll floo you," he repeated.

And Matt looked pretty pissed about it, but he seemed to take the hint and disapparated on the spot without so much as a goodbye to anyone.

"You're all the literal worst," Draco fumed. "Except you, Luna," he added. "You're a goddess."

Luna gave a little curtsy.

"Seriously," Draco said, glaring at the room even though none of them looked especially repentant. "And you," he spat, spinning to glare at Harry, "You're the worst of all."

"Does that make me special?" Harry quipped, arms folded across his chest.

Draco groaned, "Bloody fucking Griffyndors. I hope you're all happy," he grabbed Harry's arm. "Come on we are going back to mine to have a chat."

"I thought you had a five date rule," Ginny called.

Draco flipped her the two finger salute before apparating them to his house.

Harry always liked being in Draco's house; it was small and cozy, and it always smelled vaguely like chamomile. Just being here made his soul feel lighter, calmer.

"Alright," Draco growled, "Spill. What the hell was that?"

"What?" Harry asked innocently.

"Potter," he warned.

Harry sighed, "He's an asshole."

"And you know that how? You didn't even give him a chance".

"Draco his handshake was like a vice!"

Draco stared at him, "You've got to be kidding me. Are you that much of a child? He hurt your hand so you thought you should bully him?"

"I didn't bully him!" Harry exclaimed.

"No?" Draco asked. "You didn't use his given name even once." Harry winced, maybe that was overkill. "You spent the entire night trying to make him feel stupid and inferior to you. Which, let's face it, everyone does anyway because you're Harry fucking Potter!" Draco exploded.

"That's not fair," Harry said, betrayal slicing hot through his gut. Draco knew that he hated being famous, hated the preconceived notions attached to his name.

"Yeah well, neither was what you did."

"Draco, I-"

"No," he said, holding out a hand, "That was such bullshit, Harry."

"But he's awful."

"You didn't even give him a cha-"

"I didn't have to!" he exploded. "The first words he said to me were to disrespect you. He's an asshole and I will chase a million of them away from you."

"That's not your job."

Harry threw his hands up in the air, "I'm your best friend! Whose job is it, if it's not mine?"

"You don't just get to decide things for me!" Draco cried.

"Fine," Harry spat. "You want to date that wanker, go ahead. But I have seen his type before. Don't come crying to me when he's beaten you to a bloody pulp for looking at someone the wrong way." He pushed past Draco and made his way to the door, walking out and slamming it behind him.

He started down the sidewalk, debating trying to figure out where Matt lived and have a chat or maybe go over to Ron and Hermione's to get some advice and regroup.

But the further he walked, the more the anger faded from his veins, and the guilt settled in.

There was no choice really, he turned around and headed back to Draco's house once more. When he arrived he knocked on the door even though he normally would have just let himself in.

"Go away!" Draco shouted.

He knocked again, "Draco, please."

"No! Go away. You're the worst."

"I know," he called back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Please."

After a few seconds, during which fear settled heaving in Harry's gut, the door opened and Harry slipped inside, Draco was curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest.

Seeing him looking so small and sad made Harry ache. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Which part?" Draco asked bitterly.

He sighed and came over to sit on the couch beside Draco, "I'm not sorry for chasing him away. But I will always be here for you, no matter what. You can always come to me."

Draco leaned over and put his head on Harry's shoulder, "I know," he whispered.

"Forgive me?"

He nodded and they sat together in silence for a few minutes, both trying to collect their thoughts. Eventually Harry said, "I really wish you wouldn't date him."

Draco sat up, "Harry look at me."

Harry turned on the couch to look at him and raised his eyebrows.

"I won't ever floo call him, we'll never go on another date, and I'll never see him again." Something eased in Harry's chest. "But it's not because of what you said or did. It's because I, too, have had shitty relationships. I have also lived through trauma and I have had to learn from it just like you."

Harry looked down at his hands.

"And if you have concerns about someone, there is a better way to tell me than what you did tonight."

He nodded, suitably chastised, "You're right."

"I appreciate your concern, though," he added and Harry looked up to see that Draco's mouth was quirked up, he really must be forgiven, apparently. "And I genuinely forgot how petty you can be."

He shook his head and reached out for Draco's hand, "Draco, I want you to be so, so happy," he said. Then he added, "I'm an idiot."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"And everyone knows it, you included, so you can't really hold it against me," he said.

"I'm pretty sure I can."

He huffed, "Just hear me out. I'm an idiot and I didn't realize until tonight that I'm a little bit in love with you. And it's fine if you don't feel the same but you are my best friend and I had high standards for you even before I knew I had feelings for you. It hurt me to see you with someone who treated you so poorly."

"Sorry," Draco said, "I need you to repeat that."

"I said, I'm an idiot," Harry started.

"Not that part."

"It hurt me to see you with someone who treated y-"

"Not that part either," Draco said.

Harry swallowed, "It's fine if you don't fee-"

"Harry," he grumbled. "Say the other part."

He rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm in love with you," he whispered.

Draco blinked at him, a smile blooming at the corner of his mouth, "Say it again."

A grin tipped up the corners of his mouth as well, "I'm in love with you."

Draco launched himself into Harry's arms and covered Harry's lips with his own, "say it again," he mumbled into the kiss.

"I love you," Harry repeated, murmuring the words into Draco's mouth.

Draco pulled back slightly, "I love you, too."

"I hoped that was the case," Harry replied.

After he kissed him again, Draco said, "Alright, fine. Now you get a say in who I date."

Harry grinned, "Is that so?"

He nodded.

"Will you date me, Draco Malfoy?" he asked, brushing his nose along Draco's.

"Yes," he whispered. Then with a smirk he added, "But we'll have to get my best friend's approval and rumor has it that he has very high standards."

---------------

Day 65: Question | Day 67: Soulmate (Take 1)- Your traditional soulmate trope or Day 67: Soulmate (Take 2)- just using the word 'soulmate' as a prompt, not the trope.

[wizardimagines]

jealousy, part 2, draco x reader

pairing: draco malfoy x reader word count: 1,6k summary: you and ron becomes closer as you help him study, draco doesn’t take this new relationship well. a/n: here you guys go !! part 2 of jealously,, i’m in shock as to how many of u liked part one !! i’ve gotten such amazing feedback and it makes me super happy so thank u so so much <3 i’m gonna be completely honest tho and let u guys know im really unhappy with this one , i feel like it could be a lot better and i might actually rewrite it at some point . but hopefully it’s somewhat ok, enjoy !! <3 READ PART 1 HERE

warnings: TW !!! mentions psychical abuse

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The following week was exhausting. You hadn’t seen Draco for a couple of days, doing everything you could to actively avoid him. The truth was you were scared. You were terrified, to say the very least. You had no clue what to say to him at this point, afraid that you were just going to make him even more upset than he already was. You didn’t even know if you two were a couple anymore, and the thought of it made your heart shatter into a million pieces.

You also distanced yourself from Ron. You knew the whole situation happened because of your friendship with Ron, and the only solution you could come up with was simply to stop being friends with Ron. He had approached you multiple times, asking you if you were free and wanted to go study, but you had declined each offer. You felt absolutely terrible, you truly did like Ron and you enjoyed spending time with him. But you knew your relationship with Draco was more important than any friend you had and at this point, you’d give up everything to fix your relationship.

It felt so hopeless. You skipped every class you had with the blond boy, you didn’t even dare look his way whenever you walked into the great hall to eat breakfast, petrified of your eyes meeting his icy ones. Today was no different. Everyone was in class, everyone but you. You knew you would have to face Draco sooner or later, today was just not the day. You were sitting in the library, trying your best to distract yourself by reading a book. However, it wasn’t going too well. You couldn’t focus on any of the words and your thoughts kept wandering off, thinking about other things. Suddenly, a warm hand was placed on your shoulder, making you snap out fo your thoughts. ‘’Why aren’t you in class, Y/N?’’ A similar voice said behind you, making you turn around so you could see who the person was. In front of you stood Ron. ‘’Ron,’’ You let out, feeling somewhat relieved it was only Ron. You shut the book close as the red-haired boy sat down in the chair next to you. ‘’You scared me.’’ You chuckled lightly, looking down at your lap where your hands were resting. ‘’Sorry about that,’’ Ron answered. ‘’But why aren’t you in class?’’ He repeated himself. 

You didn’t know what to tell him. You knew it wasn’t a secret that you were avoiding Draco, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. ‘’I just,’’ You started, biting your bottom lip nervously. You were still staring at your hands,  nervously playing with them. You just couldn’t bring yourself to look at the boy in front of you. ‘’I have to go.’’ You blurted out, quickly standing up. ‘’Y/N! Wait,’’ Ron let out behind you, standing up as well. ‘’What’s going on with you?’’ Worry lingered in his voice, and you couldn’t blame him.

You felt your bottom lip starting to tremble. That was when you noticed the tears that were welling up in your eyes, making you shut them close to prevent the tears from hitting your cheeks. ‘’Whatever it is that’s going on, I’m here for you, you know?’’ He said, placing his hand on your shoulder once again. You took a deep, shaky breath as you turned around and fell straight into his arms. You could tell he was surprised, but quickly wrapped his arms around you. You let the tears fall silently down your cheeks. ‘’Hey, it’s okay,’’ He mumbled as he stroke your back using one of his hands, the other one holding the back of your head. ‘’I think Draco broke up with me,’’ You quietly whispered into his shoulder, tears still falling from your eyes. ‘’Bloody hell Malfoy,’’ Ron muttered under his breath, pulling you closer to him.

At this point, you didn’t even care about the whole ignoring Ron thing you had planned to keep until you fixed things with Draco. The feeling of someone holding you and being there to comfort you finally made you feel a little bit better. Ron’s warm hands were nothing compared to Draco’s cold, lanky hands but it didn’t matter at this point. ‘’I’ll walk you to your dorm,’’ He mumbled as he pulled away from the hug, spotting your tear-filled face. He slowly wiped the tears away using his thumbs, making you nod. ‘’You can start walking, okay? I just need to go get my things and then I’ll catch up with you.’’ He said, giving you a small smile. You nodded once again, giving him half a smile.

The halls were empty. You weren’t complaining though, you didn’t want anyone to see you like this; like a crying mess. You slowly walked down the hall, taking your time as you looked out each window you passed. The weather had somewhat cleared up, dark clouds still covering the sky. ‘’Y/N?’’ A voice suddenly called out, making you turn your head to the side. And there he was. His eyes were dark, not the usual bright blue color they always used to be. As soon as your eyes met his, your heart dropped. You felt your throat tighten up as you felt completely paralyzed. You felt your eyes widen as you suddenly realized that you had to get away, quickly. You turned around, quickly making your way down the hall without saying a word to the blond boy. ‘’No, wait!’’ He shouted behind you, grabbing your wrist.

Your wrist. The same wrist he had grabbed that night. The same wrist that now had a bright red mark from his tight grip. You felt the pain shot up your arm, making your eyes well up with tears once again as you cried out in pain. You quickly snatched your wrist away, holding it with your other arm as you bit your lower lip in pain. Draco looked at you in confusion before looking down at your arm, spotting the red mark. He felt the guiltiness and pain hit him all at once. His heart dropped as he realized it was him that had left that mark. ‘’Y/N,’’ He whispered, his facial expression softening. You quickly looked up at him, tears falling from your eyes as you took a shaky breath. He slowly reached out to you, making you jump. 

He froze. ‘’I’m not going to hurt you,’’ He let out, pain and shame lingering in his voice as his eyes teared up. ‘’Please don’t be scared of me, I would never hurt you,’’ He continued, shaking his head as a tear hit his cheek. Draco had never felt such pain. He had felt pain multiple times during his lifetime, but nothing could compare to the pain he was currently feeling. You just stood there, staring at the boy in front of you. You didn’t know what to say or do, so you just let the tears fall down your cheeks. ‘’I’m so sorry, please let me hold you,’’ He mumbled as he tried his best to hold back the rest of the tears, slowly walking towards you. You watched as he got closer to you, terrified of what could happen next. But Draco slowly put his arms around your waist, burying his head between your neck and shoulder. You felt a sob escape his lips.

‘’I’m so sorry,’’ He kept repeating it over and over again between sobs. You slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, you had never seen him in this state before. ‘’I don’t know what happened. I was just so angry,’’ He sobbed. ‘’But why?’’ You whispered back. ‘’Because I really thought I was losing you,’’ Draco responded. You slowly pulled away, Draco looking at you in fear as you did so. ‘’Please don’t go,’’ He whimpered, his bottom lip trembling. You grabbed his hands as you shook your head. ‘’I’m not leaving, Draco.’’ The boy in front of you closed his eyes as he grabbed onto your hands harder, like he was scared you were going to leave anyway. ‘’I’m so sorry for saying all those things,’’ He cried, pulling you back into a tight hug.

This time he placed his head on top of yours, placing one hand behind your head and the other one on your back. ‘’And I’m so incredibly sorry for hurting you like that,’’ He whispered. You pulled yourself closer to him, placing your head on his chest. You could hear his heart racing, as well as his shaky breath. ‘’I will never lay a finger on you again, I promise,’’ He continued, making you sigh. ‘’Please just hold me Draco.’’ You whispered, causing the taller boy to pull you closer to him immediately. You closed your eyes as a tear escaped from your eye, Draco pressing multiple kisses on top of your head.

You knew it would take a while to forgive Draco, but it didn’t matter. You were willing to do anything for him, just like he was willing to do anything for you. ───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

TAGLIST: @justmesadgirl @thefandomplace @kodydoescrap @slytherinsunrise @xdracosmalfoyx @imjustboredso @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy @retrouvailessx @night-girls-world @andressavp @inurealiyah @lilgoddesshines @iamaspicytriangle

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ���ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[n0bamak1s]

distracted - mai zenin x reader

request: “could you write a fluff for mai please? also can the reader be gender neutral? thank you have a nice day.” - @hitchsimp

summary: reader and mai are interrupted in their baseball practice when mai’s daydreaming about the reader causes her to get hit in the face by a baseball and reader tends to her injuries. takes place before the baseball game in episode 21. (genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slice of life-ish)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of violence and blood (nothing graphic), a couple swear words, lowkey oblivious reader lmao, the tiniest bit of angst

a/n: since the request was pretty broad i decided to go with some friends to lovers since it’s one of my fave fluffy tropes but if u wanted just general fluffy hcs or something else feel free to let me know!!

“hey! wait for me!” mai heard your all too familiar voice behind her as you jogged towards her to keep pace. your cleats dug into the dirt with each step, and mai could feel her steps halt as she waited for you. personally, mai felt that the baseball game was a stupid and childish way to determine a winner to the exchange event, but that didn’t seem to stop her from agreeing to practice with you in the days leading up to the ‘big game’ as you liked to call it.

truth be told, if it had been anyone else asking her to practice, mai would have probably scoffed and chosen to practice on her own, or even not at all. but for some reason, she couldn’t seem to help herself as she followed you to the small baseball field that went mostly unused by the school.

she’d always seemed to have something of a soft spot for you, that everyone else seemed to notice but you. the usually blunt and sometimes rude girl let her guard down around you, allowing you to see her soft side.

however, even you seemed to test her patience a little bit now that you hit her square in the nose during your practice.

to be honest, it was more so her fault, though she’d blame it on you, saying you distracted her. as you began to warm up with a simple game of catch, mai felt herself zoning out. it wasn’t her fault you looked so damn good in that baseball uniform the school had gifted everyone for the game. her baseball glove stayed up, sure, but she let her mind wander when her eyes glanced from the hair that peeked out from your cap, to the way your uniform hugged your body so well. she swore you were gonna be the death of her.

except, you might literally be the death of her after the ball you tossed to her bounced off the top of her glove and hit her straight in the nose.

“oh shit! are you okay?”

immediately, you rushed over to her side as she clutched her now bloodied nose. pulling off your glove, you grabbed her free hand in yours.

“i have a first aid kit in my dorm, it’s the least i can do to say sorry.” you said, your voice filled with concern.

“don’t worry about it,” mai muttered, hoping that her flushed face could be attributed to a bruise, rather than her embarrassment at how casually you held her hand “i’ll sleep it off, it’s no big deal.”

“ah, come on! we can’t have our star player being injured, can we?” you turned to her with a smile and gave her a wink. she tried her best to seem nonchalant as she let out a scoff, despite how she let you tug her along to your dorm. she hoped that you would also ignore the sly look todo gave the two of you as you made your way down the hallway hand in hand.

once you entered your room, you gestured for her to take a seat on your bed and gave her an ice pack to keep her nose from bruising, which she did without protest, surprisingly enough. meanwhile, you rifled through your drawers looking for some tissues, holding them up triumphantly when you managed to fish them out.

she felt the weight of the bed shift as you took a seat next to her, and turned her gaze to make eye contact with you. with a surprising amount of gentleness for a jujutsu sorcerer like yourself, you grabbed her wrist and moved it from its spot hovering over her nose so you could move to stop the bleeding. her breath hitched slightly when you leaned in even closer to dab her nose with a tissue.

“sorry again about this.” your voice is so soft that she can almost feel it on her face due to the close proximity of you too. sure, she was used to her injuries being tended to, it was only a part of daily life as a sorcerer. but there was something so different about when you did it, rather than a school nurse. you were so gentle, like you were afraid that one wrong move could break her. it was so refreshing to her, growing up around maki, who seemed to only want her to toughen up, you on the other hand just wanted her to feel cared for.

truth is, the reason mai has such a soft spot for you is that you’re one of the only people who makes her feel like a teenager. you aren’t so stuck up about your status like some of your other classmates, you just want to enjoy life. to her, you’re so comforting, because she feels she can be her true self around you instead of putting up a ‘tough’ front.

snapping her out of her daze, you waved a hand in front of her face. “maiiiii?” you drew out her name as you said it, “don’t tell me i gave you a concussion or something.”

she wordlessly raised an eyebrow at your teasing smile.

“you know, now that i think about it, you’ve been kinda spacey all day. do you need to see a nurse?” despite your lighthearted tone, she could tell you were legitimately concerned that she may have hit her head during the group battle.

mai broke eye contact, worried if she looked you in the eyes you’d completely break down her tough exterior. “just some bruises, no big deal.”

you put a finger to your chin in thought for a moment, before looking up, clear that you’d come up with an idea. “i’ll kiss it better for you!”

now this got mai’s attention real quick. she turned her head so fast she might as well have gotten whiplash. “what?!”

“well when i was younger my mom would always kiss my bruises better, it always seemed to work for me!” you said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. mai shrugged in response, figuring that if she remained stoic, she could indulge in this moment with you, even if it was just for a few seconds.

she fluttered her eyelashes closed as you leaned in, expecting you to kiss her on the nose where the bruise was. what she was not expecting, however, was the feeling of your lips pressed against hers. not that she was complaining, obviously, she was quick to kiss back, as if it was her only opportunity. she felt you smile into the kiss, signaling that you knew the feelings were mutual.

“by the way,” you said as you pulled away “i think you look really cute in your baseball uniform too.”

god, you really were gonna be the death of her.

[harrysweasleys]

a day in the life // f.w

request: Hi Alexaaaa So someone brought up this idea on my blog and i wanna request it id thats alright with you. So like imagine Fred having an auror wife and stuff and him being v protective and not wanting her to go on this dangerous mission but she goes anyway but gets really badly injured and poor freddie is worried sick. I love comfort fics i cannot lie and i hope u like this request thank you

warnings: mentions of explosions, injury, blood, and food

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hey guys! i hope you all had a wonderful week and that everyone is safe! the new year is right around the corner, can you believe it? where did the time go?? anyways, this was such a fun request and i loved writing it so much, so i hope you all enjoy! xx

“For the last bloody time, Freddie, it’s going to be fine,” you groaned, your head tossing backwards as you repeated the words to your husband for what felt like the thousandth time.

He crossed his arms, “I know you can handle yourself, but please. Please, for me, be careful. Don’t let anyone get the jump on you.”

A small smile made its way onto your lips and you placed your hands on his shoulders, “I always return, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. You knew he hated it when you went off on dangerous missions — how couldn’t he? You were his wife. It was practically an oath of his to protect you. A vow. There was no way he’d let you run into the jaws of death without giving you a rough time beforehand. He always had something to say about it.

And he often did just that. He’d go on and on about how you could get hurt, how something could go terribly wrong and he could be left by himself. How you needed to see things from his point of view. You’d then spend the morning comforting him and convincing him you’d be fine, but at the end of the day, he’d always give you a bone crushing hug, muttering “glad you’re home safe” as he did so.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner, yeah?” you asked, standing up on your tip toes and pressing a light kiss on his nose. He scrunched up his face as you did so. You could tell he was trying to act upset at your leaving, but he couldn’t stay mad at you. Especially when, in his thinking, it could be the last time he sees you.

“Fine,” his lips stuck out in a small pout, one of his hands reaching up to run through your hair, “Stay safe, love.”

You brought your hand to his, lifting it to your lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “Love you. See you soon. I’ll be fine.”

He then tossed your hand to the side — gently, of course — and brought your lips to his. His hand was cupped under your chin, fingers causing a slight ticklish feeling as they delicately moved against your skin. But the feeling went practically unnoticed as you lost yourself in his kiss. His kiss that often rendered you breathless and weak in the knees.

You could feel his love and protectiveness in the gesture and it almost made you want to call in sick so you could stay curled up in bed with him, ignoring the world’s problems and acting as you two were the only people on the planet.

But, sadly, that couldn’t happen.

So you gingerly pulled away, already missing his warm lips against yours, and muttered a quiet “I’ll be fine,” once again before beginning to button your jacket.

It was going to be a long day.

Hours later and you were, in fact, not fine.

The mission had gone horribly wrong, leaving you with a heavily bandaged left arm, a throbbing head, and a group of St Mungo’s best Healers giving you countless antidotes and potions to prevent bleeding and further damage. You had only really been in for about an hour, but the swelling in the left side of your body had gone down heavily.

The pain was still rather horrendous, but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Especially not with the current levels of exhaustion floating through your body. You felt as if any second now, you could completely pass out and stay asleep for the next seven years. And you wouldn’t even complain.

Pain really did take a toll on one’s body.

What was even more draining, though, was the fact that your Healer told you you’d have to stay the night. You trusted the staff at St Mungo’s with your life — it wasn’t exactly the first time you’ve been treated here, to be honest — but the room you were staying in was incredibly chilly and the food here was never as good as at home.

Plus, here, you didn’t have Fred’s body curled up next to you.

Fred.

He had gotten the message an hour ago that you were here and he said he’d close up shop early to come see you. They said he sounded rather when they sent someone to deliver the message, but you knew he’d barge in through those doors with wide eyes and panic written across every inch of his face. He was never one to really hide away from his worry, but you had seen him silent on a few occasions. Usually when he was in shock.

You felt awful. Both physically and emotionally. Fred had every right to be paranoid about you leaving the house; this wasn’t your first injury. And yet, you spent every morning persuading him to let you go. Fast forward to today, where you were currently bandaged in an uncomfortable bed at St Mungo’s. Not an ideal ending to your day, to be honest. And not an ideal piece of news for Fred to receive.

“Your husband is here, should we let him in?” one of the healers came to your side, checking under the bandage on your hand before nudging her head in the direction of the hallway.

A small groan left your throat, “Of course.”

She walked towards the door to the room and opened it, Fred’s frantic face finding its way to your bedside as quickly as possible. You could see the paleness of his skin, making his usually fiery hair stand out even more. His sweater was badly buttoned, and you were pretty sure the scarf he was wearing was on backwards.

If the situation was any different to the way it was right now, you’d probably have a good chuckle.

His hands immediately found yours, giving small, gentle squeezes as if he would break you if he put any more pressure, “Love, are you okay? What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

You let out a sigh with a small smile, “Freddie, I’m fine. It’s just some minor bumps and bruises. I got caught in the middle of an explosive curse, it’s fine.”

He pulled his hands away from yours and sat on the small metal chair next to the bed, pulling it as close to you as he could, his eyes scanning every inch of you as if he were doing his own evaluation, “It’s fine?! I was worried out of my bloody mind, woman. Can you imagine the panic when some bloke comes to tell me my wife’s at Mungo’s? Bloody thought you were dying.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you joked, rolling your eyes playfully before reaching your hand out to grab his, toying with the wedding band on his left hand, “I just have to stay here for the night. I’ll be home first thing tomorrow.”

“You have to stay?” his bottom lip stuck out, the childish pout on his face adding to the guilt fluttering in your chest.

You sat up slightly, trying to limit the weight on your bad arm, “I’m sorry, love. It’s for precaution. I don’t want to leave and make things worse. But, I promise, as soon as I’m discharged, we are heading home and doing nothing all day, yeah?”

“Well, I’ll stay here with you tonight ,” he puffed out his chest slightly as if he was a superhero, causing a bubble of laughter to erupt from your chest. Maybe it was just the exhaustion from your day, bud Fred’s sense of humour really never failed to get to you. Even at the worst of times.

Your eyes began to droop, but you gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that even though you were fading, you were still listening and conscious. The last thing you wanted, now that he was here, was to leave him alone in the cold room. Cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere.

“You look tired, love,” his voice was soft, gentle. Loving. All the things you wanted to hear right now. If you were honest, you were worried he was going to be furious. Not at you, per say, but at what happened. So the fact that he was being caring and sweet meant more to you than you could begin to express.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand, “Tired? Me? Never.”

His laugh was quiet but you could hear it loud and clear, “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you get up.”

You didn’t want to sleep, to be honest. You wanted to sit up and talk to him. To let him know you were sorry and just what went wrong today. You knew he’d listen, and would most likely panic a bit more when you told him the details — but he’d be comforting. And that was kind of what you needed right now.

But, alas, your body had other ideas, and before you knew it, you were sound asleep.

“I can handle it myself,” you groaned, both hands gripped tightly on the jar of jelly, twisting with all of your might and still, somehow, not getting the lid to pop off.

Fred stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his lips, “Alright, I’ll just watch from here.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, turning back to the jar and focusing all of your strength into opening it. Which wasn’t saying much, to be fair. You hardly had your strength back, and your body was still as sore as ever. You should probably give the jar to Fred, but your inner stubbornness told you to do it yourself. You couldn’t improve if everyone did everything for you.

“You’re sure?” his voice was laced with amusement as he held back a laugh, watching as your cheeks turned red from the amount of force you put into opening this jelly jar. You were surprised it hadn’t broken, but then again, were you even applying that much force?

“I’m fine!” you grumbled, using your sleeve to prevent the skin on your hand from getting irritated, your palm already bright pink from excessive use.

But it seemed to be no use. Your toast will have gone cold by now, and your breakfast just wouldn’t taste the same.

“Fine, here,” you mumbled, sticking your arm out and pushing the small jar into Fred’s chest, your bottom lick stuck out in a pout that could rival your husbands, “I hate feeling useless.”

He popped the lid of the jar as if it were nothing before handing it back to you, “I know, love. But you’re not useless. Your body just needs time to recuperate, yeah? Can’t go pushing your limits or you’ll just end up back in St Mungo’s, and I reckon you don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that,” you replied, beginning to spread the contents of the jar onto your now-cold toast, “I’m just bored. I miss work. I stay home alone all the time.”

His arms slithered around your waist, giving you a light squeeze as he rested his head atop yours, “Georgie’s taking over the shop today so I can stay here with you. We can do whatever you want.” His warmth spread through your body.

You had to admit, that did lift your spirits a little bit. The whole day at home with your husband? That sounded like quite the treat.

“Really?” you turned to face him, his arms still wrapped around your waist, but he took a step back so you could actually look up at him, “The whole day?”

“Course,” he grinned, pressing his lips to your forehead, “Gotta take care of my girl.”

The day hadn’t been overly eventful; a few cuddles on the couch, a few cuddles in the bed, listening to music, sitting next to Fred and watching telly as he organized paperwork for the shop. Just a few small things. But being with him for the whole day, it really did make you feel a million times better than you had all week.

Maybe that was his plan. To use his very presence as a way to cheer you up. Whether he did it knowingly or not, it did the trick. And now, the aches and pains in your body seemed to dissolve as he ran his hands up and down your arms, the two of you curled up in bed and ready for another night’s sleep.

“Thanks for spending the day with me,” your shot him a smile, but highly doubted that he’d see it in the dark, “I already feel loads better.”

“Of course you do,” his voice sounded cocky even though you couldn’t quite make out his face, “I make anyone feel better. I’m a real treat.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, I adore your humbleness. That’s why I married you.”

One of his hands slid around your waist and pulled you closer to him, body flushed against his. He was still gentle as if not to hurt you, “Not the only reason you married me, love.”

“Right, I also married you for George. I don’t know what I’d do without that chap in my life,” you teased, one of your hands finding it’s way into Fred’s hair, twirling at the strands that were starting to get long. Not as long as when you were in school together, but long enough that it covered his ears and often made you tuck a few strands behind his ear.

“You wound me,” he tried to pull away, but you held onto him enough that he couldn’t. Your strength was starting to come back, which was a massive improvement.

“I’m actually the wounded one,” you rebutted, your face finding it’s usual spot in the crook of his neck, his warmth encasing you like one of his hugs.

His arms wrapped around you, “You can’t be wounded anymore! I gave you so much love. That should have healed you.”

You giggled, placing a light kiss as the nape between his neck and shoulder, “Silly me. Your love has healed me, that’s very true.”

Fred might have had a certain reputation while the two of you were in school. But now, with your marriage only getting better by the day, you couldn’t help but see him as just one thing. As Fred. Your husband, your lover, and the man who would throw himself into a fire if it meant saving your life.

You lucked out more than you can even begin to express, and you would continue to be so for the remainder of your days.

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